


Potion Fumes and Periwinkle

by clenastia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Good Severus Snape, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Potions Professor Regulus, Regulus Black Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23620963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clenastia/pseuds/clenastia
Summary: It was all Regulus' idea, really. Funny, how one man's survival can change the course of history.
Comments: 39
Kudos: 177





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, fuck me, I’m absolutely NOT supposed to be doing this. I SAID I WOULDN’T START A NEW FIC WHILE WRITING GIRL’S MIND AND YET HERE WE FLUCKIN ARE BECAUSE SOMEONE MADE A FACEBOOK POST SHARING A TUMBLR BLOG ABOUT THIS FIC IDEA OF REGULUS BEING POTIONS PROFESSOR INSTEAD OF SEVERUS AND MY BRAIN TOOK THE IDEA AND RAN WITH IT. And I thought I could ignore it. But then someone commented on my Harry Potter one-shot, The Maiden and the Man, and we started talking over the PM feature, AND SHE BLATANTLY ENCOURAGED ME.  
> And I am weak to encouragement. So, uh, yeah. We got ourselves a prologue to a new fic. This will not be taking priority over Girl’s Mind. I promised weekly updates on that fic, and that’s what I’m gonna deliver, but updates might appear on this sporadically.  
> This idea is also totally up for adoption as well, since I got it from a Facebook post of a Tumblr post and own even less of it than my other fanfic ideas.  
> Thanks for reading, and as always, enjoy!

Severus doesn’t quite know why he did it, but standing on Regulus’ doorstep, he can’t quite bring himself to turn away.

Can’t quite bring himself to knock, either, but Regulus is perhaps more paranoid than even he, and opens the door soon enough on his own.

“Severus? You never visit.”

There’s a coolness in Regulus’ voice that was never there, before, but, well…

They’re both different men, now, than those school boys who studied together so long ago.

It feels nearly like a lifetime, like his life has shattered, and only two clear pieces stand out anymore - before, and _after_.

He doesn’t quite know what to say, to Regulus, to anyone, really. The world is hollow, and he still feels as though he’s only going through the motions.

Perhaps Regulus sees that, or perhaps he just finishes checking that it’s actually Severus at the door, because he waves the man in after a moment.

“I’ll put on some tea,” he offers quietly, and Severus spares a moment to wonder why Regulus has no house elf for that.

He doesn’t bother to ask, just settles into an armchair and waits.

Regulus comes back after a few minutes, tray braced in one arm as he uses a wand to pull over an end table from the other side of the room, til it sits between them.

His magic is still so _unsteady_ , and Severus watches with a clinical eye. It’s better than it was, two years enough that he could no longer be mistaken for a Squib, but for all that Severus is no healer, the fact that his one-time friend won’t tell him _exactly_ what happened so that he might have a better chance of fixing it…

He doesn’t ask.

Regulus takes his time pouring the tea, hands steady in a way his magic just _isn’t_ , and hands over a cup before asking again.

“You don’t visit me, Severus. Not except to drop off potions. What’s wrong?”

Severus takes a sip of the tea and momentarily wishes for something stronger.

“Dumbledore,” he offers after a moment of silence between two… friends? Former friends? Accomplices? Traitors? 

He doesn’t really know.

Regulus makes a considering noise, and he continues. “Horace Slughorn retires at the end of this year. He’s made it quite clear, apparently. Dumbledore… would have me take his post.”

“You don’t want to teach. I’d like to think I still know you well enough to be certain of that. There are other Potions Masters who can take the job.”

Severus grimaces into his cup.

“Dumbledore… said he could not vouch for me if my name came up in trial unless there was already a compromise in place. Too many Death Eaters are citing imperious or trying to claim themselves traitors to the cause, and only a few are getting off. He made clear that they would be more inclined towards forgiveness if I were being… _supervised_.” He spits the last word with a sneer, fingers tightening around the delicate porcelain.

They drink in silence a few minutes, and Regulus refills their cups before speaking again. “Would it truly be so bad? You taught me well enough.”

Severus scoffs. “You could have gotten straight O’s on your Potions exams even without me. Just the _thought_ of teaching some incompetent fool with no understanding of the Art…” his lips twist again into a sneer, and he sets down his teacup. “I’ve no patience for foolish children.” He says at last, quietly.

It’s that or Azkaban, because he was known enough in the Dark Lord’s inner circle that _someone_ will use his name as a lifeline. And he hates both, hates every choice left to him, but he already failed-

It’s all he can do.

No other choice is even considerable.

The quiet sounds of Regulus’ drinking taper off, a soft clink signalling his putting down the cup. Severus doesn’t turn back to look at him, just stares blankly at the window.

He’s traded one master for another, and it already wasn’t worth it but maybe he can still-

He doesn’t know.

Doesn’t know what he wants, doesn’t know what’s left to get out of this, when everything he wanted to start is too far gone to reach.

Regulus only lets the silence last a few moments more, before speaking with quiet hesitance. “I could teach them.”

Severus nearly interrupts, because he _just explained it_ , but he gives Regulus the benefit of the doubt. This isn’t a foolish Gryffindor, so there must be something more to it.

His companion continues after a moment. “The younger children. There’s a precedent for it, right? In 1683, Master Gophilian shared the job with his apprentice, teaching only the Newt-level students while Apprentice Merryweather taught the first through fifth years. It might even work out better like that… You won’t have to deal with… incompetent fools, and I’ll have some measure of protection for myself in the way of Hogwarts’ wards.”

Severus muses over the suggestion.

He doesn’t want to teach at _all_ , really, children are children and he - _never had a childhood_ \- has no idea what to do with them, but Regulus is good. If he only has to teach the ones Regulus thinks are good enough to advance…

He grimaces, but… perhaps it would be more tolerable. Only…

“How would we convince Dumbledore of this? He is not one to make… _exceptions_ for Slytherins, after all.”

Regulus grins at him. “Well, it’d give you more time to brew potions for the Hospital Wing. Especially right now, in the wake of the war, Madam Pomfrey alone would likely manage to convince him for us, were we to approach her about the idea first…”

Severus freezes, mid-motion from pouring another cup of tea.

That… could work. 

He glances at his companion.

Perhaps he could get her assistance in something else, as well.

If Regulus plans to teach, he can hardly do so with his magic still unstable. He pours the cup and offers a smirk of his own back towards the younger Slytherin.

“I’ll leave her in your capable hands then, Regulus. I can meet you at the school tomorrow?”

Regulus nods, holding out his own cup for a refill.

“First thing in the morning. The Headmaster will be at the Ministry for Karkaroff’s trial, so we’ll have plenty of time to speak with Madam Pomfrey before he returns. Perhaps even a chance to speak with Master Slughorn, gain an understanding of his current lesson plans…”

Severus grimaces. He hadn’t even thought of that - _hadn’t thought of anything, really_ \- and he gets the feeling tomorrow will require far more _talking_ than he quite wants to deal with.

But for the first time since Dumbledore’s ultimatum, as he and Regulus work their way through the rest of the tea, he feels… somewhat hopeful.

The world is hollow, and his heart with it, but…

Regulus’ eyes are as hollow as his own, and _he’s_ still capable of moving forward, looking to the future.

Perhaps one day, Severus will be able to do so as well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was SUPPOSED to be Regulus’ reaction to hearing that Sirius betrayed the Potters to Voldemort.  
> But then Poppy Pomfrey shoved him aside and said “Wait your turn young man!” And so we ended up with a chapter about the war from a healer’s perspective.  
> With a bit of Regulus and Severus right at the end, though Severus really didn’t do anything. Not sure how I feel about it, but it’s taken me long enough to write this chapter that I decided to just go for it.  
> As always, thanks for reading! Maybe we’ll see that Regulus POV next time, though I make no promises.  
> This story has no summary or plan, it’s literally a collection of one-shots in my head right now that I’m desperately struggling to piece together into a coherent plot. We’ll see how it goes.  
> Enjoy~!

She’s got six children in her hospital wing the morning of the next big trial, which is six more than Poppy ever wants to see in her halls.

Two are in for calming draughts she _doesn’t have_ , because Hogwarts itself might be safe but they _still_ sent the students home every summer and some never came back and others came back trembling as though they expected enemies around every corner. She does her best, sitting with them and talking them through the fear, pressing their hands against her heart and letting her magic pulse in time with her breaths, letting them feel it and match her at their own pace.

They’re the easiest ones to help, in some ways. Because three students are in her halls for long-term damage, but St. Mungos isn’t as safe as Hogwarts so their parents sent them to school anyway, and she’s just one witch. Exhaustion clings to her spirit and she lives in fear of the day she makes a mistake, misses something important, and one of her children doesn’t make it through.

_ I became a **school** nurse to avoid this! _ She thinks desperately, in the quiet moments of the dawn as she double-and-triple checks the children in her care.

School nurses aren’t supposed to worry about their patients dying. Not with all the wonders of magic at their disposal, not when anything children can do to each other should be easily treatable by a trained professional.

School nurses aren’t supposed to have patients they literally can’t treat in their beds. She turns to the last child in her wing, and sighs. She’s not quite sure when Ms. Knightly slipped into the hospital wing, the girl as quiet as a ghost as she sits on a bed far from the other patients and just watches Poppy do her job.

She left school at the end of 5th year perhaps not the most energetic child, but at the least always quick with a smile and a comforting word if she noticed someone who seemed to need it.

She hasn’t spoken a word since she came back for the start of her 6th. All the teachers have tried to work around it, help her, encourage her, but she doesn’t respond.

Poppy has checked and checked and _checked_ , but there’s nothing physically wrong. Nothing her magic can fix.

Ms. Knightly visits her hospital wing more and more, and Poppy’s not sure why, there’s nothing she can _do_ , but she has enough empty beds and she won’t ever kick a child out of her halls if they don’t disturb her during her work. She performs the basic diagnostics she’s gotten far too used to casting on any child who enters her wing, and when they come back clear as ever, she smiles.

“You feel free to let me know if you need anything, dear.” She waits until Ms. Knightly nods, offers another smile, then turns towards her office. She’ll put in another order of calming draughts to St. Mungos, though she doubts she’ll get any. The medically-trained potions masters spend their time on the more important potions, the ones that can save lives, and things like Dreamless Sleep and calming draughts have become utterly scarce as the war picked up. But it’s been over for months now, and even most of the Death Eaters who fled have been rounded up.

Maybe this time they’ll have something for her other children.

The answer she receives is a no that’s as apologetic as all their others, and she doesn’t have it in her to even feel disappointed anymore.

Distantly, she wonders when things will go back to normal as she looks over Master Slughorn’s schedule again. He gave it to her before, so that she could tell him what potions the hospital couldn’t give her and they could work out a schedule for having him brew them, but no. It’s too close to the end of the school year, and all the teachers are still trying to make it feel as normal as possible for the children, and by the time he’ll be able to help her, most of the students in her care will almost certainly have taken the opportunity to leave school early.

She sighs again, and wishes she could teach the prefects to handle panicking students in good conscience. But without draughts to settle the accidental magic that sometimes comes with trauma-induced panic, it’s too dangerous for anything short of a professional, and she’ll just have to make do til the end of the year.

_ Perhaps, _ she muses, closing her eyes for a moment, _next year will be better._

A sharp knock on her door startles her awake, and Poppy curses, grabbing her wand and rushing out - a quick tempus tells her she’s slept for nearly an hour, and she brushes past whoever knocked without even looking at them, immediately moving to check over the students.

She gets Ms. Davies the next round of her potions, only a few minutes late and thank _Merlin_ the girl’s shakes didn’t get worse in that time, and quickly checks over her other patients.

Ms. Knightly is gone, and Poppy shakes her head but at least she knows the girl will come back whenever she needs help and even when she doesn’t, so the mediwitch turns at last to her guest.

Or perhaps guest _s_.

Severus Snape and Regulus Black stand just outside her office door, looking rather like they haven’t moved since she pushed them aside to check on her students.

Were it any other situation, she might find amusement in their clearly taken-aback expressions, but war has sapped all hilarity from her, and she waves them into her office brusquely, following behind to secure the door from eavesdropping students before settling into her desk chair.

She wishes such things were even necessary, but she knows none of the children in her beds will even try to listen. She does it just from habit, these days, and the thought brings another wave of exhaustion down on her.

“What can I do for you boys,” she asks, and Severus immediately tries to drift into the background.

She’s been watching out for that boy since he was a _firsty_ , and she stares at him pointedly until he stops acting like he’d rather disappear.

It’s still young Regulus who answers, though she really expected no less.

“I know it might not be our place, after… everything,” he starts, voice still cultured and quiet but there’s a new weight to it that hurts her heart almost as much as the aborted motion for his left arm.

Two children she failed, two children she should have done better by, and she wonders who finally did what she didn’t, and helped them both find the right path.

She wonders if they’re even alive, whoever they are, but she won’t do the disservice of asking. After all the things she didn’t do, she hardly deserves to ask, so she just nods her head and waits for Regulus to continue. 

He might have been expecting a different reaction, because he stares at her bemusedly for a moment. “I do not know how much Dumbledore tells the staff of his plans, but he recently stated that he expected Severus to replace Master Slughorn for the position of Potions Professor.”

“I knew he planned to retire after this year, but only because he told me himself. I’m sorry if I’m abrupt, only I don’t understand what I can do with this information?”

She’s done wrong by these children, seeing signs and not doing half as much as she should have, but if they came just to make an announcement when she’s worked off her _feet_ …

Regulus shakes his head like he knows what she’s thinking. “Severus and I spoke at length, and we thought that you might be able to speak to Dumbledore with us, regarding a different approach. That I might teach the first through fifth years, while Severus teaches the NEWT students, and uses the saved time to also brew potions for the hospital wing - I know you currently have a shortage, and at the very least we can both assist while shadowing Master Slughorn through the rest of his classes this year, and continue to help next year if the situation has not resolved itself by then. I feel as though we would have better chances of convincing him if you were to offer your own word alongside ours.”

Poppy nearly demands to know what they plan to get out of this, but bites her tongue at the last second. That’s half of what drove those boys down their paths in the first place,she’s sure, the fact that everyone knows Slytherins always want something, forcing unreasonable expectations on 11-year-old children, and she won’t contribute to it anymore.

And even if they do stand to gain something from her support, Dumbledore wouldn’t hire someone he didn’t trust. She nods, mostly to herself, though Regulus’ shoulders relax just a touch as she does.

“The headmaster should be back in the next hour, so we can speak to him then, but if you have extra time, perhaps we could talk more about the potions you’d be making? I know Severus worked to get his license for medical brewing, but I don’t believe I heard the same regarding yourself…”

Regulus shakes his head. “I haven’t, no, but I know not every medical potion requires a license to distribute, as long as you passed your NEWTs to a high enough level.”

Poppy nods again. “Quite so. Then, before we speak to the Headmaster and Professor Slughorn, here’s what I need the most…” 

She turns around, grabbing the files she’s had to start keeping just to track who needs what, carefully charmed so certain information is only available to her, and lays them out on the desk.

There’s a lot of questions she’d like to ask, but for now her children come first, and she’ll have years to settle her curiosity once they start teaching.

For now, she shoves down the exhaustion always half a step behind her, and looks to the future.

It might be a bit brighter today, than it was yesterday.

Poppy dares to hope.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE! And here we see my possibly poor attempts at making Dumbledore not-totally-evil.
> 
> I’m a big supporter of the Evil!Dumbledore camp. But I’m gonna try to avoid that here, to the best of my ability.
> 
> We finally get that Regulus POV!
> 
> And I still don’t have a cohesive plot for this. I really gotta think one up. Otherwise this’ll just turn into slice-of-life fic or something.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!

He stares at the paper, and can’t quite believe it. Can’t quite comprehend the words, even as they stare at him in stark judgement.

**_‘...laughed like a man gone mad, as he swore again and again, “I killed them, I killed them,” even as the aurors completed their arrest…’_ **

Sirius’ face stares back at him, caught in a moment of mad laughter, and by _Merlin_ he looks so much like Cousin Bella…

Regulus flips the paper over sharply, unable to stare at it any longer.

“He wouldn’t do that,” Regulus breathes, and tries to ignore the trembles in his hand.

Sirius _wouldn’t_.

And yet all evidence says he has.

“Was he tortured?” Regulus muses aloud, glancing towards Severus. He went into hiding, after that night at the Lake, and he knows he missed large sections of the war. Bits and pieces from Severus’ lips when the man came to drop off the potions keeping him alive, but perhaps his old friend just didn’t want to tell him…?

He knows that’s not true even before Severus speaks.

Their relationship may not be what it once was, but he would never have lied to Regulus in that way.

“It is not surprising. I have long told you your brother is a _menace_.” Severus hisses, glaring at the paper as though it personally offends him.

“Maybe to us, but…” Regulus’ throat closes, and he tries not to choke on his words. “He always… the Potters were more a family to him than we were.”

He can’t quite bring himself to say that Sirius loved the Potters more.

It hurts to even think it, but… Sirius considered James Potter his brother far more than he did Regulus.

Regulus just wishes he knew why _~~he wasn’t~~_ ~~good enough~~ they drifted apart.

Severus scoffs, and Regulus glares at him.

“I know something happened in your sixth year, between you. But I _know_ my brother, Severus. Either of us, he might have stabbed in the back in a heartbeat. But not James. _Never_ James. I just don’t understand…”

He trails off, staring at the flipped-over paper as though it might offer him answers.

Everything is silent in the moments between Severus turning pages through Slughorn’s notes. Regulus should do the same, but his gaze keeps crawling back to the paper, and he both wants to flip it over and wants to never see it again.

Eventually, Severus stops, resting his hands atop the notes.

“He tried to murder me.”

It’s a quiet admission, and Regulus almost asks, _“Who?”_ , before he remembers their short conversation.

He turns his attention to Severus, who meets his eyes with a coolly dispassionate gaze.

“Remus Lupin is a werewolf, and Black... goaded… me into approaching him during a full moon. I hadn’t realized, of course. Potter had to put a stop to it. Black demanded to know why Potter interfered, said it was, _“Only what he deserved_ ,” and even you know how they didn’t speak for a week after that. No matter how much you care for him, Black is _utterly_ capable of murder. I would not call myself surprised to see that he finally turned on even his ‘closest friends’.”

It hurts like a knife to his stomach, listening to Severus speak in an empty, detached voice of what Sirius did. What he _said_.

His brother tried to murder one of the few true friends he’d had, back in school, and he never even knew.

He glances at the paper, and wonders at the Black Madness that haunts his line, has presented through his family for _generations_.

He wonders if he’s making excuses, just because he doesn’t want to believe Sirius could hate them so much.

“We’re capable of murder too,” he whispers into the silence, and remembers the way that muggle girl wept silently, her throat a savaged mess.

Sometimes he still wonders who’d gotten tired enough of her crying to do that to her, before he was asked to _~~prove his loyalty~~_ kill her.

He wonders who Severus killed, who haunts _his_ nightmares-

_Hands and water and **theywontletgo** -_

He doesn’t ask.

Eventually, Severus speaks again, voice tense like the words are being forcibly dragged from him. “Black was always… quick to assume things were his fault, if Potter had issues with his parents. I’m certain his trial will prove things one way or the other.”

Regulus smiles tiredly at his companion. “You’re right, Severus. Better not to jump to conclusions when the trial transcripts will have the proof of it.”

He turns back to Master Slughorn’s notes for the first through fifth years, and finds it easier to focus as he and Severus work quietly.

He can wait. Everything will become clear after the trial.

* * *

By the time summer comes and goes, and the new school year starts, there still hasn’t been a trial.

He asks Dumbledore.

“Trial? He confessed, my boy. What need is there for a trial?”

Something like a scream claws its way up his throat, something like fury.

_My brother deserves a trial!_

He wants to shout- he can’t shout- it _burns_.

Too many Death Eaters know Regulus Black was wanted dead more than Dumbledore himself by the Dark Lord, and the wards of the school are the only thing that stand between him and the survivors.

He hides in this school by the Headmaster’s mercy.

It feels like a knife, twisting in his gut.

* * *

Albus watches the young Black leave his office, and wonders if he made the right choice.

In so many things, really, but especially here.

Rumors of young Tom’s sheer _fury_ at learning of Regulus Black’s betrayal are just as such because supposedly, _no one_ who had been near him that night survived it. It took Albus far too long to even hear of it, the war only a month from over when he got the first whisper.

 _No one_ knows what the younger Black did to be worthy of such personal hatred from Tom, from their lord. Even Severus has no idea, despite having asked multiple times, by his own admission.

And Albus has a suspicion, has a _theory_ , a mere wisp of an idea, but he can truly think of only one thing that would enrage Tom past all reason.

And so, when two Slytherins edged their way into his office, hiding in the shadows of Hogwarts’ own nurse, and asked to teach _together_ , he said yes.

Because he needs to _know_ , needs to see if Regulus Black betrayed everything he’d committed himself to because he found proof that Tom had used magic so dark even the _Blacks_ were wary of it.

He glances toward the stack of paperwork he has from the Ministry, where Sirius Black’s confession resides.

Sirius was the Secret-Keeper, and Godric Hollow’s wards would not have fallen unless he betrayed the Potters, but…

If even Sirius’ Death Eater brother does not think him capable of such an act, perhaps there is more to this story?

He makes a note to himself, to travel to Azkaban for a word with the eldest Black.

Just to set his mind at ease.

And then he turns his thoughts toward how he might get young Regulus to speak of his betrayal, to tell him what he _needs_ to know.

This war is not nearly so over as everyone believes, but he is Albus Dumbledore. There’s no need to interrupt the peoples’ revelry for something he can surely handle himself, and if he cannot, well.

That’s what the prophecy and young Harry are for.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow Dumbledore’s voice is hard to write. Probably should have gone with my other idea of writing out Regulus and Severus’ first classes… ah well! That can be for next time! For now, here’s some attempts at political worldbuilding, and possibly poor Dumbledore characterizations! Seriously I’m not sure how well I captured him here… but this is a necessary snippit to move the story forward, no matter what direction I go, so here it is!
> 
> Thanks for reading!

The start of the first school year after the war ends is pure chaos. Even with all the celebrations that happened in the wake of Tom’s apparent death, no one was ready to truly _believe_ it was over. Around Christmas was when they truly began to relax, and even then there were still so many Death Eaters at large.

Now, almost a year out from that Halloween night, the people of Britain have fully embraced peace.

Dumbledore has received _dozens_ of letters from parents, asking if the school could make a special exception and allow children to go home for Halloween, so the families can celebrate together.

Hogwarts has always had its own traditional Halloween practices, but as Dumbledore gazes at the _massive_ stack of letters he rather thinks there might be a riot if he holds to tradition here.

And then his eyes travel to the _other_ papers across his desk. The letters from other representatives in the ICW, _still_ asking about reparations for damages inflicted by any of Tom’s Death Eaters who fled abroad, the letters from pureblood lords asking where Harry Potter is, often including genealogies proving distant relations to Harry through his father’s line as an excuse to try and gain custody, and letters from the Ministry asking him to review this or that or even asking him to run for Minister yet again-

Dumbledore sighs.

He might have thought once, that a year was enough time for everything to calm down. But the first anniversary is right around the corner, and he should have remembered that nothing was ever calm around that time.

Though, the _last_ time there was a first anniversary celebration for the fall of a Dark Lord, he… was not in a good place.

Dumbledore reaches for one of the Ministry missives, shoving aside the memories as he turns back to his work. He jots a note, to ask Professor McGonagall about Halloween arrangements - he’s certain between the two of them they can decide on something satisfactory, she’s always been more in touch with the children than he has, and Dumbledore knows that not _every_ child will be going home for Halloween even if they do permit it. Best have something for them to enjoy.

The Ministry letter he grabbed, it turns out, is from the temporary head of the Department of Law Enforcement - following Crouch’s resignation - asking him to review a transcript from a trial he couldn’t attend.

**_Please review this transcript, and share any insights you might have in regards to his testimony._ **

Something niggles at the back of Dumbledore’s mind as he reads through the attached pages, a feeling like he’s forgotten something important within all the mess of his duties.

It is only half-way through the transcript, when the Lady Walburga Black speaks out to make a question to the prosecution, that he remembers.

Two weeks now, since young Regulus Black slipped into his office to ask about his brother, and Dumbledore has been so buried in his mail he completely forgot-

He quickly reaches over, penning another note to himself, before turning back to the transcript. Walburga Black has been a rather diminished figure of late, and something of her question to the courts seems unusual…

* * *

The corridors of Azkaban are bitingly cold, and Dumbledore spares a moment to wonder how the Ministry could think to trust the Dementors, so soon after their betrayal. He answers his own question a moment later, as he recalls the Wizengamot meetings he was sometimes able to attend - with so many dead, the Ministry couldn’t staff the prison with Aurors even if they _wanted_ to. There was one meeting, he thinks, where they were considering lessening the amount of training required to be an Auror just to be able to get new recruits in sooner…

Almost a full year of peace and still there are so many issues to solve…

At the very least, it means no one demanded he take an Auror escort to speak with Black, so he’ll have the chance to ascertain the truth of the matter without the public questioning his motives.

Sirius Black’s cell is deep within Azkaban, under the highest layers of security, and even Dumbledore’s patronus doesn’t fully chase away the nightmares dancing at the back of his mind.

He’ll have to make this quick.

He catches sight of Sirius before the other sees him, and Dumbledore pauses. Black is calmer and more put together than anyone else he’s passed in this wing of the prison, and already the Headmaster’s heart drops.

What but the darkest of arts could make a man immune to Dementors?

He nearly turns aside, certain once more of Black’s guilt, but… neither Regulus nor Severus ever heard so much of a whisper of Black betraying. And despite Regulus being a loyal Death Eater, loyal enough to be considered in Tom’s inner circle, he still believes his brother incapable.

And so Dumbledore pushes aside his certainty, and strides up to the cell.

Black leaps to his feet immediately.

“Dumbledore! You’re here! Is Harry alright? How long has it been? There aren’t any windows, I lost track a while ago, and the Dementors make it so _hard-_ Harry’s fine though. Right? Pettigrew didn’t get him before I caught up did he-?”

“Young Peter? Sirius you murdered him, he can’t catch anyone.” Dumbledore wonders where the trap is. Black acts so concerned about Harry, but surely it’s only because he hopes to trick information from Dumbledore, perhaps to pass it to someone else? He should look a bit more closely at the guards if Black has contacts who will still help him…

“Wha- y-you didn’t know… of course not, we kept it secret I just thought James might have-” Black shakes his head, nearly curling into himself, and Dumbledore is reminded once again that he is a masterful actor. Even now, despite months of exposure to Dementors, his occlumency shields are still stable enough that Dumbledore can’t catch any lies.

He turns to leave.

“Wait! Please! We switched secret keepers! I thought I was too obvious, I told James to use Peter, I’m innocent! I swear! Use Veritaserum, o-or legilimency, a _blood ritual_ if my shrew of a mother is still alive! I hunted Peter because he betrayed us but I didn’t cast that spell! They didn’t even priori my wand, they would have seen- I didn’t do it! Please! Headmaster-”

Dumbledore turns around. Black stands pressed up against the bars of the cell, stretching his arm out as though he could grab the hem of Dumbledore’s cloak and stop him. His eyes are wide and wild, but, after a moment, Dumbledore thinks it might not be madness he sees there.

Desperation. Fear. Guilt. 

But not, perhaps, meaning what he first assumed they did.

Dumbledore holds his silence for a moment, watching the desperation grow in Black’s eyes, but the man does not spit threats or drop any supposed act.

He relaxes minutely. “Very well. I will speak to the Wizengamot, and arrange for a trial by Veritaserum. If you change your mind or refuse at any point to answer a question, I will advise them to apply the Dementor’s Kiss without hesitation. Are we clear?”

Black sags in relief, barely held up by the bars. “Yes. Yes, thank you _thank you t-thank-_ ”

He falls to his knees, forehead pressed against the cell door, muttering thanks with desperate fervor.

Dumbledore feels his certainty of Black’s guilt shake all the way to the foundations.

_Could they really have switched Secret Keepers…?_

In the next moment, he wonders about Black’s sanity and awareness, even surrounded by Dementors. Dumbledore nearly asks, before it occurs to him that such a question might be better answered under Veritaserum.

So he nods curtly. “I will take my leave. Expect a trial within the month - I’m afraid I’m too busy to arrange anything sooner.”

Dumbledore turns and strides away quickly, before Black’s heartfelt thanks can soften him into doing something foolish.

Like springing a jailbreak when he has all the power and authority he needs to arrange a proper, _legal_ trial.

If only all his other problems were so easy to solve...


End file.
